Climb
by Emerald has been Cumberbatched
Summary: Sherlock climbs, John waits. SPOILERS FOR HIS LAST VOW.


**Author's notes: This is the result of a "feels war" between me and Princess Shania. The aim of this is to make the other have feels by writing small angsty things. I wrote this late at night and decided I liked it so much I wanted to post it. It needed a few tweaks but I'm pleased with it.**

**Set inside Sherlock's mind palace after he's been shot. **

* * *

Every step he takes sends waves upon waves of agony through him.

He falters, the world in his mind palace swimming and wavering as he staggers on the stairs.

:ERROR: :MUST NOT GO INTO SHOCK: :SHOCK: :CONTROL HEARTBEAT CONTROL:

The mass of information being thrown at him is overwhelming, his body faltering whilst his mind prevails. He's aware he doesn't have much time.

The pain he feels? Indescribable. Without going into shock he is aware of every sensation of pain and fear. It's all too easy to give into the dark whispers of Moriarty, the man who resides deep in the dark recesses of himself.

Ignoring the call of death is hard, the peace and finality it would bring. And for what?

For John.

John Watson.

The Army doctor, the broken man. Broken not because of danger but because of his addiction and need for danger.

A broken man who found a similarly broken man.

And fixed him.

It's this thought of John which makes him strive to bring himself back to life, back to John.

John Watson was in danger, he must save him.

So he brings forth memories.

_The feel of the wallpaper of their flat underneath his fingers. _

_John's laugh._

_The amazement he felt when John said "that…was amazing"_

_The feel of John's hand on the small of his back as they swayed to the music of the waltz. The temptation to kiss him slowly and softly in that moment so overwhelming he can barely resist not too._

_The feeling of elation of running through London with John at his side._

These memories help. He pounds on the stairs, willing his silent heart to beat again. A heart which beats for John.

Each step he takes is worse then the last. Moriarty is there constantly, his voice haunting him, whispering dark and twisted rhymes and trying to draw him back into the comfortable dark.

But he fights. His thoughts swarming into one train of thought, a constant rhythm like the beating of a heart. _John, John, John. _

Slowly, painfully he brings himself back to life.

* * *

John waits.

He seemed to be doing an awful lot of that lately.

He stares at his hands. He sees the crimson stain on them.

Sherlock's blood on his hands.

His mind tumbles through memories of when he had last seen that stain. How Sherlock's hair had been covered stickily in his own blood after he had "died"

Of course he knew now that that hadn't been real. But all the same his mind conjured up those images and they made his stomach turn.

Sherlock had flat-lined.

The doctors had informed him Sherlock's heart had stopped. They were currently trying to restart it. John's legs had given way when he had heard that and he had to stop himself sliding down onto the floor in shock.

He had lost him again.

A doctor appeared at the edge of his vision. He had a look of sadness on his face. It told John all he needed to know.

Sherlock was dead. For good this time. They couldn't restart his heart.

He sat in the plastic hospital chair, numbly staring at a poster on the wall. The life drained out of him almost as if he had been the one who had been shot.

Suddenly there was a shout from the operating theatere and the doctor who had informed John about the failure to restart Sherlock's heart turned round to see his colleague running towards him "his heart has restarted, he's awake, it's a miracle!"

John looked up at those words and stared in amazement as the doctors ran back into the theatere. Sherlock was alive?

There was loud yelling coming from the operating theatre and John laughed shakily, of course the idiot would be dramatic about this. Of course he would cause panic and drama.

All the same he couldn't help but let out a relieved sob to know that his friend was alive.

And if he went to see Sherlock later whilst he was asleep and kept a tight grip on his hand, well…he couldn't lose him again, could he?

* * *

**Author's note: Well? What do you think? If the last part doesn't make much sense, please blame it on how stupidly tired I am currently. XD**


End file.
